Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [121]
Well, it was time for the acid test. And if, as she suspected, there was anything between them, then it would be a coup de grâce for Miss Haven.
“Fabrizio,” she called over the delighted squeals of Fabiola, whom he was swinging high over his head, spinning around, “Fabrizio, she’ll be sick. Put her down. Please.”
Fabrizio sank to the floor, clutching Fabiola in his arms.
“Ohh,” he groaned, “you’re so heavy—look what you’ve done to your poor old papa. Oh, I can’t move.” He lay back, arms outstretched dramatically, while Fabiola sat on his chest, bouncing up and down, laughing.
“Fabrizio, I think it would be a good idea to take the children away this weekend, get them into the country for some fresh air now that the weather is so beautiful.”
“Good idea,” he agreed. “You’d like that, Fabiola, wouldn’t you?”
“Where?” demanded Fabiola, curling up in his arms. “Where are we going?”
“I thought we might go to the Montefiores’,” said Marisa casually. “We could take Renata with us—you know she’s in love with Aldo and I’m sure he likes her. It would be a terribly good match for both of them … and isn’t it time you and India had a little meeting about the palazzo? Surely there must be lots of things to discuss?”
Fabrizio sat up abruptly, clutching Fabiola to him. “There’s really no need for me to go. I sent an architect up there three weeks ago. He confirmed that India’s ideas were workable and that her technical drawings were faultless. She has itemized all her ideas for the interiors to me and now she’s working on sketches to present to the Montefiores. India’s doing an excellent job without being bothered by having the boss around.”
“But after all, cara, the Montefiores are paying for Paroli, not India, aren’t they?” She glanced at him slyly. “I mean, there’s no reason why India should be upset to see her … “boss,” is there?”
“Of course not!” Fabrizio’s voice had a slight edge to it. “It’s just that she’s doing a good job without me.”
“Well, then, that’s settled. I’ll call Paola now and make arrangements.” Marisa headed purposefully for the phone in her bedroom. She was glad when Aldo answered the phone and said of course, he was more than pleased to have their company. He was sure India would, too. She was working so hard, a break would do her good.
“Oh, Aldo,” begged Marisa sweetly, “please don’t tell India that we’re coming—I’d like it to be a surprise.”
“A surprise? Of course, if you wish, Marisa.”
“Then we’ll see you Friday. Renata will be looking forward to it, Aldo.”
“We shall all look forward to it, Marisa,” said Aldo.
And that was that, thought Marisa, putting down the phone. She’d put little India to the test this weekend and she’d give the Aldo/Renata situation a little boost—it was time some definitive progress was made there. Two birds with one stone, she thought happily. How clever.
Aldo tore himself away from the muddle of plans, papers, contracts, and bills on the walnut rolltop desk in his room—the same desk used by his great-great-grandfather, who had been one of the more successful Montefiore businessmen, amassing a sizable fortune from a newly industrial era. Unfortunately, his great-great-grandfather had not been as lucky with his children—two willful daughters and a son who had considered the family fortune a bottomless pocket for their wild ways. Enzo Montefiore, the son, whose portrait hung in a deliberately out-of-the-way part of the second-floor corridor, had made his name and reputation—and lost his money—in the cafes and music halls of a fin-de-siècle Paris, competing with British dukes and new American millionaires in the contest for the city’s loveliest courtesans. Mind you, thought Aldo, shrugging on a light linen jacket as he prepared for dinner, Enzo, like all the Montefiores, hadn